


Songs About Green Eyes

by iphido



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, M/M, Meet-Cute, band au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24854119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphido/pseuds/iphido
Summary: Osamu met Keiji like this.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 23
Kudos: 231





	Songs About Green Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> plotless, pointless meet-cute!! this is set in the same 1980s as the one in my [kunikage fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672184), and may or may not expand to feature more inarizaki boys ^^ oh yea, hi cary :D

Osamu met Keiji like this.

On June 1, 1987, the night before Whitney Houston released her second studio album, Jason Bugle, owner of Treasure Records, decided to eat some falafel gone bad. He hadn’t known it was bad at the time, of course, but rather rudely found out at one in the morning. His wife was very angry with him for the rest of the week.

Osamu Miya, with no idea that his boss was suffering from food poisoning, showed up for work early the next morning. The record shipment had come in last week. Osamu had already snagged a copy of _Whitney_ for himself, so he wasn’t worried about it selling out. He _was_ worried, however, about the growing line of people outside the store and the stark lack of his boss. It was almost nine-thirty, a good half hour after their usual opening time.

The mob was getting bigger and angrier as the minutes ticked by. “Open up!” a balding white guy screamed at him, two seconds short of throwing his bagel. Joke’s on him, because food wasn’t allowed inside the store anyway.

Osamu clenched his jaw and tried very hard to recall the etiquette lessons his mother had ingrained into him. “I’m very sorry sir, I’m as clueless about where my boss is as you are.”

“Then find out where he is! You were supposed to open thirty minutes ago!”

He counted to four. Whenever Rintarou left used condoms in the living room, he counted to seven. Whenever Atsumu really got on his nerves, he counted to ten.

“I’ll go use the phone at the bookstore,” he gritted out. “Please wait here.”

He walked to the curb and, checking for any passing cars, crossed the street to Night Owl Books.

The bell chimed as he pushed the door open. “Welcome,” said a pleasant voice.

He’d never been inside the neighboring business before. Usually, he just checked novels out from the library, but most of the books he owned came from Goodwill. Night Owl Books was tiny and cozy. Jazz played from a vintage phonograph—Sinatra. A cherry wood coffee table was surrounded by some worn armchairs against the wall. Shelves stuffed with books were blocking his view of the rest of the store.

He slipped into an aisle, and promptly stopped in his tracks, because there, behind the counter, stood the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

The cashier was almost as tall as him, and wore a sky blue T-shirt with an owl emblazoned on the front. He had black hair that looked softer than kitten fur, smooth skin that was neither tan nor pale, and a pair of slanted, slate green eyes hidden behind browline glasses.

Osamu’s first thought: he could write ten songs just about those eyes.

His second: he’d marry this person. If not in reality, then in his dreams.

“How can I help you?” said the world’s most gorgeous cashier. God, even his voice was perfect. Low and smooth like dark cotton sheets.

“Uhh,” said Osamu. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “I work across the street at Treasure Records, and my boss hasn’t shown up. D’you mind if I use your line to check on him?”

Green Eyes blinked. “Oh. Sure.” He closed the book lying open on the counter and lifted the divider, gesturing. “This way.”

“Thanks.” Osamu stepped past him. Green Eyes smelled like oolong tea and a warm blanket, if that was possible. He was led through a door into a tiny office. It barely fit a single desk. There seemed to be stacks of paper in every free spot. The wall-hanging phone above the desk was mint-colored. Osamu clicked the phone out of its dock and dialed the number he’d been forced to memorize.

“Boss? Hi. It’s Osamu. There’s a mob of angry people outside the store. I’m wonderin’ where you are. Oh. Sheesh. Sounds bad. Should I just tell ‘em to go home? Oh. Okay, am I off after twelve then? Okay. Cool beans. Feel better, Bugle.”

He hooked the phone back in its place and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You're all done here?”

He turned. Green Eyes was watching him kindly. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Great,” said Green Eyes, heading back to the register. Osamu followed. “If I may ask, what was the problem?”

“My boss has sorta been puking his guts out all morning, and I don’t have a key. Sorry, was that gross?”

Green Eyes shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.” He leaned back on his heels to look out the front window. “Looks like that crowd hasn’t budged. Or broken in.”

“That’s just swell. Do you think I could hide in here? Just a little while?”

Green Eyes assessed him. Osamu resisted the urge to shiver. “I don’t see why not.”

“Sweet,” Osamu said. He ducked back under the divider and rested his forearms on the counter, leaning. Green Eyes returned to his book. “What’s your name?”

A flicker of sage. “Keiji Akaashi.”

“Keiji Akaashi,” he repeated, letting the name roll around his mouth like a jawbreaker. 

“You said your name was…”

“Osamu Miya. You Japanese, too, Keiji?”

Keiji nodded. “I moved here when I was two.”

“I was born here,” Osamu said. “Well, not here, I grew up in Jersey. You a student?”

“Third year English major at NYU.”

“You’re my age, then.” Osamu whistled. “NYU. Big shot.”

Keiji shook his head with a tiny smile. “I live in Koreatown. Are you here for school as well?”

“Sort of. I go to a community college, but my brother and I moved here to do music. You like music, Keiji?”

“You’re asking an awful lot of questions.”

“How else would I get to know you?”

“You want to get to know me?”

“I aspire to acquaint myself with all forms of beauty.”

Score. A blush, insanely pretty on Keiji’s flawless face. _I’m definitely smoother than Tsumu._

“You’re definitely the musician type,” Keiji said. He closed his book and mirrored Osamu’s posture. “I don’t know many people who dislike music.”

“Favorite artist?”

“Ella Fitzgerald.”

As if on cue, the phonograph released a piercing riff on the trumpet and an enchanting voice scatting. _Stars shining bright above you._

“Speak of the devil,” Osamu said. “Must be fate. My favorite’s Whitney Houston.”

“Good taste,” Keiji said.

He preened. They looked into each other’s eyes for several moments.

In his mind’s eye, Osamu flipped a coin. “You free on Friday nights?” he blurted.

Keiji blinked once. “Usually those are my study nights. Or my get-wasted nights.” He tilted his head. “But if you make a compelling offer… That could change.”

Osamu reached over and grabbed the sticky note pad and the pen behind the register. He scribbled the name of the joint, its address, and the date and time. 

“My band is playing this Friday.” He slid the notepad back over and hid his shaking hands behind his back. “I’ll make it worth your while. And you could probably still get wasted, if you want, but that’s up to you.” 

Keiji stared at the writing. “Fox’s Den, huh?”

“Yeah. I just— really would like it if you came. Even just to listen.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” said Keiji. 

“You can visit me backstage, after our set. And by backstage, I mean in the parking alley.”

“Sure.”

“Good.”

Keiji’s eyes glanced behind Osamu. “That crowd might be getting too hot for you to handle.”

“I should go handle them.”

“You should.”

Osamu didn’t move, though. He wanted to memorize every single detail about the stunning person in front of him. “It was nice to meet you, Keiji.”

“Likewise. I’ll see you Friday night, Osamu.”

Screw music, he would rather listen to Keiji say his name all day. “Friday,” he said, backing away.

Keiji waved a hand, then rest his chin in his palm. He was still looking at Osamu. _Dream a little dream of me_ , Ella sang.

Osamu turned, shouldered the door open, and stepped into the summer street. He wondered whether there was enough time to write, compose, and perfect a new song before Friday. Atsumu would just have to deal with it.

**Author's Note:**

> i think i just like writing osamu flirt with akaashi. thank you for reading! <3


End file.
